


on sleepless roads the sleepless go

by Klitch



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 07:25:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5282000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klitch/pseuds/Klitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of episode 8, Fushimi spends a restless night. He isn't the only one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on sleepless roads the sleepless go

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by several asks and the wonderfully depressing ending of the most recent episode.

“Fushimi-san!” Akiyama's fist rapped sharply on the door.”Fushimi-san, are you there?” 

“Do you think he really left?” Behind him, Enomoto quietly floated the question they were all thinking. Akiyama's back stiffened slightly and Hidaka's grip tightened on the blue coat clutched in his arms. 

“And the Captain said not to follow him?” Benzai asked, glancing back at the other members of the Special Forces squad. 

“Yeah...” Hidaka lowered his head, hands running along the sleeves of Fushimi's discarded blue coat. He'd intended to take control of Fushimi's sword as well but the Captain had taken it first, pulling it from the metal door where it had been embedded with an unreadable expression. He hadn't stopped Hidaka from taking the coat, though, and he hadn't said anything more to the rest of them after the order not to follow Fushimi. 

_It doesn't make any sense._ Hidaka bit his lip, flinching slightly as Akiyama continued to knock on the door to Fushimi's dorm room. _Why did this happen?_

He hadn't really known what else to do, other than take Fushimi's coat and hold it for him. When Akiyama and Benzai had returned they'd all been standing around awkwardly, going through the motions of securing the scene and trying to act as though they hadn't just seen their superiors get into a very public fight. When Akiyama had walked up and stated that Awashima had told him to give Fushimi a report of their findings from scene at the Tower no one had quite been able to answer him, the memory of Fushimi's abrupt departure still too fresh in their minds. 

As soon as everything had been taken care of they'd been sent back to the dorms with orders to get some sleep but somehow they'd all ended up standing at the door to Fushimi's private room instead. 

“Fushimi-san!” Akiyama knocked on the door again. Once again only silence greeted him. 

“Maybe he's just asleep?” Doumyoji suggested, shrugging. Even his voice sounded slightly more subdued than usual and his normally bright face was uncharacteristically serious. 

“We should go to bed.” Benzai put a hand on Akiyama's shoulder and Akiyama looked down, hand lowering. 

“We—we can't just leave!” Hidaka spoke up, the passion in his voice surprising even himself. “Fushimi-san...Fushimi-san _has_ to be upset after all of that. We should—there has to be _something_ we can do, something we can—we can say...” He trailed off, holding Fushimi's abandoned coat close. 

The rest of the squad exchanged curious glances and Hidaka swallowed hard, eyes stinging. 

After a moment Kamo took a step forward, reaching for the doorknob. 

“Kamo...?” Akiyama took half a step back. Kamo's eyes narrowed slightly in concentration as he turned the knob. The door opened easily. 

“Unlocked, huh?” Benzai murmured. He turned to glance between Hidaka and Akiyama. “So? Should we go in?” 

Hidaka looked up, his eyes meeting Akiyama's. He knew the two of them weren't terribly close – Hidaka as a former member of Doumyoji's 'troublemaker' squad and Akiyama the always serious fourth in command, they had little to do with each other outside of work. But Hidaka had always noticed the way that Akiyama had somehow managed to become the closest thing Fushimi had to a friend among the Special Forces squad, while Hidaka himself had always been trying to find some way to get Fushimi to become closer to the rest of them. When Akiyama had hesitantly suggested they check Fushimi's dorm Hidaka had been the first one to agree and it had been Hidaka who'd finally told Akiyama of the fight back at the base of the Tower, barely able to form the words around the lump in his throat. 

“Let's go in,” Hidaka said quietly. Akiyama nodded and pushed the door open, stepping inside. 

“Excuse our intrusion.” The light was off and Akiyama reached over to the wall to flip on the switch. “Fushimi-san?” 

“He's not here?” Hidaka walked in behind with the rest of the squad following him. 

“This...is Fushimi-san's room?” Enomoto looked around curiously. “Isn't it a bit...empty?” 

“There's nothing here!” Doumyoji added, arms crossed behind his head. “I thought for sure Fushimi-san's room would be really interesting. There aren't even any torture devices.” 

“I guess he hasn't got many personal belongings,” Gotou said thoughtfully, pulling open one of Fushimi's drawers. 

“H-hey, Goty!” Hidaka waved a hand. “Don't--” 

“There are still some clothes here.” Gotou nodded towards the open drawer. 

“The rest of his uniform though...” Enomoto's voice made the rest of them turn. He was crouched next to the bed, hands touching the wrinkled clothes that had been stuffed haphazardly beneath it as though their owner couldn't tear them off fast enough. 

“His computer is gone.” Akiyama spoke up from next to the desk. His hands clenched slightly and Hidaka found himself falling back against the wall. For some reason he felt light-headed all of a sudden and Gotou put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Perhaps he went somewhere for the night?” Benzai's voice was uncharacteristically gentle as he moved to stand beside Akiyama. 

“R-right!” Doumyoji glanced between Akiyama and Hidaka, voice forcefully light. “I bet he just went to hang out at a net cafe or something for a few hours, to cool down! When we wake up in the morning he'll probably be right there at his computer making a scary face and telling us how awful all of our reports were.” 

“And maybe he won't be.” Fuze's voice was low and contemplative and Hidaka shot him a curious look. “He said he was quitting, right?” 

“Fuze!” Enomoto hissed nervously and Fuze glanced up to meet Hidaka's stricken gaze. He ducked his head slightly with a muttered apology. 

“It's—it's fine.” Hidaka stepped forward, moving to carefully hang Fushimi's coat on the empty hanger along the far wall. “I'm sure Fushimi-san was just upset because of what happened with the mission. The Captain, too – we were all really frustrated, right? They were just—they just got a little overexcited and said things they didn't mean, that's all. Even the Captain can make mistakes sometimes too. So...so I'm sure Fushimi-san will be back. He wouldn't...” Hidaka's hands rang along the empty blue sleeves of Fushimi's coat. “He wouldn't leave, not like this. I'm sure he'll be back.” 

“Right.” Akiyama's voice was tight and Hidaka couldn't look at him. “Fushimi-san is part of Scepter 4. He wouldn't just leave, not this way.” 

Hidaka nodded in reply, and didn't look up. 

– 

The sky was dark but Awashima was still wide awake. 

She glanced down at the phone in her hand, tempted to dial the familiar number again, and stopped herself. She'd already kept Izumo awake long enough for one night. He'd done his best to help, even though technically this was Scepter 4's issue alone. They'd all had a long day, with the battle and the sting of loss that accompanied it. Asking him to send out his already worn out and tired people to search for Scepter 4's wayward third in command had been selfish of her, but there was nothing else Awashima could think to do. 

She'd attempted to take her mind off things by compiling the reports of what had happened earlier at Mihashira but that had quickly turned into a hassle. One of the many things she had taken for granted that Fushimi would handle, as he always did. He'd always given off the impression of someone who skipped out on difficult work and yet it wasn't until he was gone that she'd realized exactly how much she had come to rely on his skills. 

Awashima sighed and cast her gaze towards Munakata's office. She'd intended to ask him about what had happened with Fushimi – it hadn't been until hours later that she'd heard about the fight from a clearly upset Hidaka. However, immediately upon returning to headquarters Munakata had locked himself in his office and refused all her attempts at speaking with him. She'd accepted his wishes and left him alone, assuming that he no doubt needed some time to himself after all that had happened. 

Awashima was fully loyal to her King. She truly believed that his way of doing things was a correct one and would have followed him to the ends of the earth if he commanded it. But even she couldn't help but wonder what he could possibly have been thinking, engaging Fushimi in such a way. In many ways Fushimi had always been someone who Awashima couldn't quite completely understand but she had always trusted that Munakata knew what he was doing when it came to his unruly third in command. That Munakata would say such harsh things to Fushimi, and then allow him to walk out of Scepter 4 without making any attempt to follow...there had to be some reason why, but she was completely at a loss as to what that could be. 

Of course, Munakata hadn't been in the best state of mind himself and _that_ preoccupied her almost as much as Fushimi's situation. He'd been defeated, loathe as she was to admit it. That his Sword of Damocles hadn't taken any greater damage than it had was a miracle in itself. Perhaps it had been the toll of that, the weight of a King's burden over him along with the injuries and battle fatigue that had caused him to say such things, to allow Fushimi to walk away in such an undoubtedly tormented state of mind. 

Awashima sighed quietly and looked down at her PDA. She had sent Fushimi three messages already and had yet to receive a single reply. 

She knew very little about Fushimi's personal history beyond his time at Homra but she knew enough to realize that Fushimi's options for places to stay outside of Scepter 4 were limited. When she'd called Homra it hadn't been out of worry that he'd returned to his old clan – it had been out of the vague hope that he might at least have somewhere, _someone_ , a place to sleep and a person to lean on after a trying day. 

Homra hadn't seen him at all, though. Whereabouts unknown. It wasn't snowing outside but the cold had been bone-chilling the last time she'd been out and she knew it would only get colder as the night moved on. 

It was Christmas Eve too, now that she thought about it, and Awashima smiled ruefully as she cast her gaze out the window. 

Maybe she would try to call Izumo one more time, just in case. 

– 

The hallways of the Scepter 4 dorms were quiet and still, the last of the forces having finally retired to bed. The day had been long, after all, and the night longer. Tomorrow there would be plans to form and reports to write but for now everyone had finally returned to their rooms to get some long overdue sleep. 

In the silence, there was the sound of footfalls along the floor. Slow, regal steps, the kind that could only have belonged to one person. 

One door still stood half-open, the light left on just in case. Inside one could almost make out a coat hung up properly against the far wall, a white shirt, waistcoat and pants laid against the bottom bunk, slightly wrinkled in a way that gave the impression that someone had tried desperately to straighten them out as much as possible. 

There was no computer on the desk and the trash can was empty. Shadows crept along the top bunk, the blanket haphazardly dangling halfway off the edge of the bed the way it no doubt had been since being thrown off early that morning. Everything seemed almost unnaturally still, frozen in time, waiting for the room's occupant to return. 

One hand pressed against the door for a long moment, and if it shook at all there was no one there to see it. 

There was a slight creaking sound as the door was pulled shut and then once more slow measured steps, walking away. 

And then, silence. 

– 

One of Yata's hands fiddled with his watch as he walked slowly through the darkened streets. 

_“Seems he walked out of Scepter 4 after getting into some kind of argument and hasn't been heard from since.”_

Kusanagi's words rang in his head and Yata's hands clenched. 

“Stupid monkey.” His voice sounded rough and worn, and Yata attributed it to the long day and the disappointment of the loss. He ran a hand along the face of his watch again. 

He wasn't worried. He definitely wasn't worried about that stupid traitor, not at all, and Yata stared up at the dark midnight sky. 

It was...it was really cold out, right? And Saruhiko had always hated the cold, that was all. He got sick so easily too. And apparently he'd left that ridiculous blue coat behind, it was probably way warmer than whatever he was wearing now and he'd left it behind. Christmas Eve and it was freezing out and it had been a long hard day and Saruhiko _should_ be back at stupid Scepter 4 headquarters getting some proper sleep and maybe having a snack or something before bed, just to get something in his stomach because the stubborn idiot probably hadn't eaten anything all day, and instead he wasn't anywhere to be found. 

Yata swallowed hard, staring down at his feet. 

_“Hasn't been heard from since.”_

That could mean anything really, when it came to Saruhiko. It wasn't like Saruhiko talked to other people much anyway. He probably didn't even spend time with his own clan at all. For all Yata knew Saruhiko might be curled up in his own bed right now and none of the stupid Blues had so much as bothered to check before calling Homra and making a fuss about it. 

That wasn't it, though, and Yata knew it. He sighed heavily, kicking at a rock as he stuffed his cold hands in his pockets. 

Kusanagi had sent a couple of the guys out looking for Saruhiko, as a favor to Scepter 4's lady lieutenant. Yata had volunteered too – not because it was Saruhiko, of course, but because he was Homra's vanguard and after all they were all in an alliance or something still, right, even if they'd lost, so as a representative of Homra the least he could do would be to help out in looking for the stupid monkey. 

He hadn't just been looking around randomly, though, not like the others had. Yata had somehow found himself checking all the places he remembered from so long ago – the park bench near Bar Homra, the game center, he'd even stopped by the internet cafes that he remembered Saruhiko admitting to spending the night at all those years ago in middle school, the ones he'd told Yata about in a bored voice while Yata angrily insisted that if Saruhiko was going to sleep in one of those places he should just come to Yata's house instead. Just any of the places he could think of that Saruhiko might consider a safe place to be alone, and still Yata had come up empty-handed. And there had been a resignation to Kusanagi's voice when Yata had reported his results, something that had given Yata the distinct impression that Kusanagi had assumed that if anyone could find Saruhiko it would be Yata. 

Yata wanted to be angry about that, but worry was quickly overshadowing any of the anger he had left. He raised one arm again, staring back down at his watch and the half-written text he hadn't quite been able to bring himself to send. 

_'Hey, stupid monkey! Your people are worried about you. Where the hell are you?'_

He'd used the old mail app too, the one Saruhiko had made for the both of them. Who knew if Saruhiko still had it on his PDA but somehow Yata knew that if his message had any chance of being answered that app was the only way to do it. 

His hand hesitated on the 'send' button and Yata let his wrist fall back. It was stupid to try and send it, right? It wasn't like Saruhiko would respond. They weren't friends anymore, after all. 

They weren't friends. But Yata didn't really think they were enemies anymore either, and impulsively he pulled the mail up again and hit 'send.' 

There was no immediate reply, not that he'd expected one, but somehow Yata felt better for having sent it. He stuffed his hands back into his pockets as he continued on towards his apartment. 

By the time he reached his place there had still been no reply and Yata couldn't deny that it made him feel a little on edge. He'd hoped that maybe there would be _something_ , even if it was just a taunt, just some small message to let him know that Saruhiko was still okay. 

“Saruhiko...where the hell are you?” Yata sighed, fumbling in his pockets for his keys. 

A cold wind blew by and for just a moment Yata thought he could feel a presence nearby, watching him. 

“Saruhiko?” He couldn't help the hopeful note in his voice as his head shot up, looking around for any sign of that familiar face, that familiar person waiting for him. 

No one answered him. Even so, Yata remained there outside his apartment door for a long while, staring out into the darkness. 

– 

It was well past midnight, and Fushimi was cold. 

He could see his breath, puffs of white floating in the air, lit by streetlamps and small blinking lights hung on trees and over storefronts – right, it was Christmas by now. Fushimi laughed quietly to himself. Well, it wasn't like this was the first time he'd spent this day alone, and he'd long ago filed it away into the category of days other people liked to fuss over that didn't mean anything to him. 

His feet were sore from walking and his legs felt like lead, too heavy to move. The thought of a warm bed in his dorm room floated through his head and was immediately pushed away. 

_“You're used to being a traitor, anyway.”_ Fushimi grit his teeth. 

It shouldn't have hurt. It was the truth after all, a truth he'd gone to such trouble to carve into his flesh, the brand he used to scar himself with at every opportunity. It had always been so satisfying before, to wield it against himself like a sword and watch the way Misaki's face burned with fire every time Fushimi spoke the word. _Traitor, traitor, traitor._

But it hadn't been Fushimi saying it this time. It hadn't been Misaki either. 

_“You're used to being a traitor.”_

His hands shook and there was no stopping them. They felt so hot, burning at the tips of his fingers where he'd once held a sword, even though the rest of him was so cold. 

He could still see that smile, curved like the edge of a blade, and bile rose in his throat. He'd been a fool to believe anyway. 

Such a fool, to believe there was anywhere at all that someone like him could belong. 

Fushimi walked through empty streets, past warmly lit houses, past small quiet cafes filled with stale shadows. His fingers slid along the smooth face of his PDA. There was still a small notification in the corner, from an old app he'd placed on his phone though he never intended to use it again. One new mail. He knew who it was from, and didn't intend to reply. 

The building he stopped in front of was old and in poor shape, but Fushimi didn't even so much as hesitate as he walked inside. He made his way along the first floor, past the shop front to the apartments until he stood in front of a familiar door. 

It was locked, of course, but that was easy enough to break and Fushimi stepped inside without even so much as a look back to check if he'd been seen. 

No one had lived in this apartment for some time. Fushimi had checked, from time to time, just to see if the place had ever been rented out again. It seemed that no one had been much interested in such a shabby little apartment, especially not one with such a history. 

Fushimi didn't bother to try and turn on a light, letting his eyes get adjusted to the darkness instead. It was wider than he remembered and yet somehow still cramped, filled with the ghostly traces of his own memories. 

The spot on the wall where Misaki had hung his skateboarding posters, now bare. The cold empty spot where the kotatsu was supposed to be. The dusty floor that had once upon a time been covered in empty boxes of takeout and scattered personal items. 

The beds were still there, a skeleton of themselves, mattresses but no blankets. Even so Fushimi climbed up to the loft, crouched there breathing in the scent of something forgotten and empty. It was hard to believe that this was the same place that had been so warm to him once, the place that had been the center of his entire world. 

There was the old urge still there, to look below, even though he knew there was nothing there. Instead Fushimi took off his glasses, set them down beside his PDA near where the bed met the wall. He pulled up the hood of his coat and laid down on his side, curling in on himself to keep warm. 

_“You're used to being a traitor,”_ and Fushimi didn't know if he was laughing or shaking. Either way it was hard to breathe. 

The mattress beneath felt hard and he was cold even through his coat. Fushimi shifted slightly, the sound seeming to echo in the wide empty room as he closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep. 

Beside him, the screen of his PDA glowed green.


End file.
